Category: Philosophy

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Another Metaphysical Mystery for Theists

By Jim Spiegel

As a follow up to my recent post on the “ultimate mystery,” I want to touch on another mystery pertaining to God and the cosmos.

One of the distinctive aspects of an orthodox Christian doctrine of creation is that of divine creation ex nihilo—the notion that God created the cosmos “out of nothing.” That is, God did not use any pre-existing materials to make the world. This sharply contrasts with many Eastern cosmologies as well as that of the ancient Greeks. Plato, for example, though a theist, regarded matter as co-eternal with God. Similarly with Aristotle. According to him, God was necessary to explain change in the world but not the existence of the world itself.

The biblical picture of divine creation is that God spoke every aspect of the cosmos into existence. The first century A.D. Jewish scholar Philo of Alexandria might have been the first to formalized this into the concept of creation ex nihilo. The first Christian thinker to articulate the doctrine was Theophilus of Antioch a century later. By the time Augustine affirmed the doctrine a few centuries after that, the concept of creation ex nihilo was becoming a firmly established pillar of church doctrine.

It is easy to see why early Christian scholars so readily embraced this idea, as the alternative view, creation ex materia (the notion that matter is eternal and divine creation is simply a reforming of this primordial material) does seem to conflict with the Genesis creation account and the general biblical portrait of God as alone eternal.

But here is an interesting question as regards divine creation—and I suppose it is as much of a quandary for the ex materia as it is for the ex nihilo view: where did God derive his ideas for creating the things he made—planets, stars, plants, animals, insects, etc.? The easy—and not very useful—answer is that God simply thought of these things out of his own infinite imagination. But how? Without any pre-existing things to prompt or inspire creative possibilities, what could have been the basis of the content of God’s creative choices?

Whenever human beings create we always do so with existing resources, things we have seen, heard, read, or otherwise experienced. So none of what we make is creative in the ultimate sense. Even our most “original” works are somehow derivative. So how does a mind come up with ideas purely and simply? We have no category for such a thing.

This is actually the hardest thing to comprehend about divine creation ex nihilo. It is not the act of creation ex nihilo—which I take to be essentially the sharing of ideas with other minds—so much as the devising of the ideas to share. It is this conceptual first step that boggles my mind. How did God conceive of the idea of a dog or a tree or even biological systems in the first place? This invites the question, out of what divine stuff did God conceive of these original ideas? Here we see the temptation to entertain some kind of Platonism which posits the eternal existence of certain ideas or forms. But, alas, such a view encounters the same problems that plague creation ex materia, as it affirms things that are co-eternal with God.

Another option would be to say that there are eternal ideas but they are not external to God but in God. This alternative essentially places the Platonic field of forms within the divine mind. But this option faces other difficulties, such as making sense of why just certain ideas are fundamental to the divine mind and not others (when, after all, there is presumably no reason to think that the idea of, say, a dog or tree is a necessary aspect of the divine mind). Here one might be tempted to avoid this problem by supposing that all possible ideas are eternally in the divine mind. But this faces the problematic implication that the mind of God is eternally loaded not only with rich and wonderful ideas but also with frivolous and random ideas from feces and pimples to hideously ugly potential plants and animals.

In any case, these are vexing questions, and I welcome any suggestions for potentially promising theories. Oh, and for more ruminations on the metaphysics of the divine mind, check out the book Four Views on Christian Metaphysics, a volume to which I contributed the chapter on idealism.

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The Ultimate Mystery

By Jim Spiegel

A recent episode of the Joe Rogan Experience, featuring a conversation with Rizwan Virk, deals with the possibility (or likelihood) that we are living in something like a computer generated reality. Of course, what this really points to is the age-old notion that the world is the product of some ultimate consciousness, that is, God. Rogan, like all of us, understands the significance of this, which explains why he is uncharacteristically silent through much of the conversation. We are talking about the ultimate question here.

There are really just two fundamental worldviews: Either all comes from Mind or all comes from matter. There are many versions of each, but these are ultimately the two options. It’s really that simple. Those who take the latter view are materialists (or naturalists or physicalists, depending on one’s preferred nomenclature). They are also empiricists and typically regard science as the most reliable or perhaps only way to secure knowledge. Materialists believe in minds and consciousness, of course. They just believe that it is reducible to, or an epiphenomon of, physical reality

Those who take the Mind-most-real view reject strong empiricism, affirming that reason or mystical-religious experiences provide evidence for the reality of a supernatural realm. They do not deny the reality of the physical world but simply deny that it is the ultimate reality. They maintain that this material realm is in some way the product of the workings of an ultimate consciousness. Those among them who maintain that this Mind at the bottom of things is personal are generally called theists. For many such theists, such as Socrates, Plato, and Aristotle, among others, theirs is a purely philosophical conviction. Most others subscribe to a theological tradition, such as Judaism, Christianity, or Islam.

Whichever view one takes, the conviction tends to be held very firmly, often dogmatically. This is despite the fact that whichever view one holds there are serious metaphysical problems and ultimate mysteries that defy ready explanation. This, I suppose, is symptomatic of human arrogance or insecurity or both. Plaguing both views is the ultimate metaphysical question: How did all of this get here? And even more basic is Heidegger’s famous question, Why is there something rather than nothing? (Ways of addressing this question are boundless. For a recent sampling, check out these, most of which miss the point or involve a confusion of some kind.)

Then there are the problems unique to each perspective. For the materialist, the most fundamental problem pertains to how consciousness could emerge from inert matter. The options here are numerous, including philosophical behaviorism, strict identity theory, functionalism, and property dualism. But they all face serious problems, such as that of 1) explaining the particulars of consciousness, including phenomenal qualia, subjectivity, and enduring selfhood, 2) accounting for human freedom, 3) accounting for moral truth, and 4) accounting for rationality—non-natural things like reasons, logic, and evidence influencing the world. Then there are the perennial problems of cosmology (explaining the origin of the universe and cosmic fine-tuning) as well as all sorts of empirical data pointing to the supernatural (e.g., mystical experiences, NDEs, OBEs, etc.).

Materialists may balk and minimize these problems all they want. It’s simple denial. Any self-respecting materialist will at least admit that these are genuinely significant problems with their perspective. It is no wonder that, after a half century of concerted atheism Antony Flew flipped from a materialist view to a Mind-most-real view (see his There is a God) and that the inveterate materialist Thomas Nagel has admitted that materialism is bankrupt and in serious need of overhaul, if not outright rejection (see his Mind and Cosmos).

But Mind-most-real proponents have no grounds to be cocky. They also face serious metaphysical problems. In addition to the ultimate metaphysical question—why is there something rather than nothing?—there are many other thorny questions: How could the ultimate Mind create something so radically different as physical matter? What is the substance of this Mind? How does this being causally act on the world? How much of the cosmos does the Mind control? Does this Mind have a moral nature? If so, then why evil—and why so much evil? Has the Mind communicated to humans? If so, which, if any, of the purported supernatural revelations is genuine? If one of them is, how do we resolve the countless interpretive problems?

As a Mind-most-real advocate, I am happy to be relieved of the problems plaguing the materialist view. But I naturally am interested in many of these other problems. However, as a Berkeleyan immaterialist, I think many of these admit of ready solutions. For on the Berkeleyan idealist view (which the great American theologian Jonathan Edwards essentially affirmed as well), the physical world just is ideas. And since minds naturally traffic in ideas, God’s production and causal influence on the world is not mysterious at all. (For in-depth scholarly discussions of a wide range of issues pertaining to idealism and Christianity, look here and here. And here is a London Lyceum interview with me on topic.)

But there is one particular problem unique to the Mind-Most-Real view that is especially deep and intractable: How does a Mind make another mind? In the theistic traditions, we learn that the primordial Mind (God) created all things. In the Christian tradition, at least since Augustine, we affirm that God created ex nihilo. So how did this ultimate center of consciousness—God—bring into existence minds like yours and mine ex nihilo? How does a subjective consciousness endow another thing/substance with subjectivity? And what exactly is the substance of each of our minds? How are our minds like and unlike the ultimate Mind?

One plausible philosophical answer is theologically problematic, at least from the perspective of Christian orthodoxy: The Mind did not create other minds ex nihilo but rather finite minds are aspects of the primordial Mind. This solution isn’t necessarily pantheistic, but it is panentheistic. (For an interesting discussion of this possibility, see Jordan Wessling’s chapter in this aforementioned book.)

As a convinced theist who believes that Christianity is the most reasonable version of theism, the question of ultimate reality is settled: Mind is most real. The likes of Antony Flew, Thomas Nagel, and Joe Rogan have recently been waking up to this fact, even if they aren’t ready to call themselves theists (or even, in the case of Nagel, a non-materialist). For me, then, the remaining ultimate mystery is just this: How does the Mind make other minds? This will be one of the first questions I ask that Mind when I get to the other side.

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A Philosophical Anecdote

By Jim Spiegel

Many people complain of the trouble that philosophers cause with all of their theories and disputations. As a “professional” philosopher, I’ve fielded my share of such complaints over the years. For example, a friend once scoffed to me how he had once heard a philosopher question whether he could know that the chair in which he was sitting was real. I simply smiled in response, sensing that he was in no mood for a serious discussion of the matter. The truth is, of course, that it is not philosophy which poses the problem of the reality of the chair, but science. As physicists tell us, that chair is 99.9% empty space—very far from the “reality” of the chair that we seem to perceive with our senses. That is a scientific conclusion, not so much a philosophical one. What the philosopher says in response to this is to ask, given this apparent scientific fact, whether we can know the “chair” that is really there. This is a very natural and ordinary question, it seems to me, given the facts of the situation. So then, we might ask, what is my friend’s actual complaint in this case? If he claims the problem is with philosophy, then he’s really just confused or else in denial. But if his problem is with science and its implications for knowledge, then, well, he’s a philosopher.

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Not All Conspiracy Theories Are Equal

By Jim Spiegel

One of the most common pejoratives used these days is “conspiracy theory.” Media pundits often apply it as a term of derision to conveniently dismiss a person or view they don’t like, and this almost always goes unchallenged. Even otherwise nuanced intellectuals often categorically impugn conspiracy theories as foolish. Novelist Oliver Markus Malloy has said that “conspiracy theories are popular among the ignorant, because they offer simplistic answers to difficult questions” (Inside the Mind of an Introvert). And neuroscientist Abhijit Naskar insists, “all conspiracy theories are the product of the subconscious attempt of an ignorant yet creative mind to counteract the fear of the unknown with tales of fantasy” (Mucize Insan: When The World is Family). While perhaps satisfying to the uncurious, superficial observer, such claims are remarkable for their dogmatic assumptions not only that all conspiracy theories are irrational but also that the root psychological cause of conspiracy theories is the same in every case. If for no other reason, such quick and haughty reproaches should give us serious pause to consider the possibility that they protest too much.

Like most cultural memes, the term “conspiracy theory” is rarely carefully defined. The Oxford Dictionary defines a conspiracy theory as “a belief that some secret but influential organization is responsible for an event or phenomenon.” Some examples of obviously absurd conspiracy theories include the claim that the U.S. moon landings were hoaxes, staged in a Hollywood backlot and that the 9-11 attacks were orchestrated by U.S. or Israeli operatives or didn’t happen at all, in which case it is claimed that bombs destroyed those buildings, not commercial jets. While it might be appropriate to say that such claims should not be dignified by a critical response, it should be with the understanding that a truly critical response can overwhelmingly demonstrate the ludicrousness of these theories.

But are conspiracy theories always without merit? And should we automatically condemn as irrational anyone who espouses a conspiracy theory? In fact, there are many significant historical events which are widely recognized to have involved conspiracies. The assassination of Julius Caesar was certainly conspiratorial in nature. The Watergate burglary involved a conspiracy of at least five people, probably many more than this, and the later cover-up expanded the circle of conspiracy even further. And numerous Mafia organizations have been exposed over the years, all of which constitute conspiracies of some kind, whether or not those infiltrated high echelons of government. It is an uncontestable historical fact, then, that some conspiracy theories have turned out to be correct. Moreover, many of these seemed absurd to most people at the time, until evidence eventually proved them to be true. The simple lesson, then, is that such theories should never be dismissed tout court. Each should be assessed on its own merits. And failure to do so, as is so typical these days, especially on the American left and in mainstream media, is manifestly a fallacy of faulty generalization.

So it seems that not all conspiracy theories are equal and that some are actually quite rational. Therefore, it is for good reason that certain conspiracy theories are accepted by those open-minded enough to carefully examine the evidence. Ironically, then, Oliver Markus Malloy’s condemnation of all conspiracy theories as problematic because “they offer simplistic answers to difficult questions” actually applies to his own categorical dismissal of conspiracy theories, as his is, indeed, a simplistic answer to a difficult question. Similarly, media pundits and cultural commentators who hastily apply the phrase as a convenient pejorative reveal their own failure to think critically even while accusing others of the same.

So why have such categorial dismissals of conspiracy theories become common parlance these days?  Perhaps, at least in part, it is because of the widespread irresponsible appeal to conspiracies, due in turn to the fact that they are entertaining and more likely to draw “clicks,” “likes,” and website traffic. Perhaps also because of cognitive laziness and an impatience with the process of critical inquiry and the sometimes painstaking evidential scrutiny this entails. More likely, it is because dismissing all such theories is an easy way to further one’s own narrative and hamstring competing views. After all, a sweeping demonizing of all conspiracy theories is a very efficient way to rule out any such theory that threatens one’s political perspective. The problem is that this approach also effectively poisons the well against the discovery of actual conspiracies, however rare these might be.

So, setting aside the more obviously absurd conspiracy claims about flat earth, hoaxed moon landings, and the like, are there any diabolical conspiracies associated with, say, the World Economic Forum, the 2020 presidential election, a Chinese takeover of U.S. businesses, Covid-19 vaccine mandates, or recent U.S. riots? With regard to any of these things, might there be powerful people and organizations working behind the scenes to expand their power or bring about their preferred political aims? We will only know one way or another through critical inquiry. Rejecting all such theories from the outset not only closed-mindedly rules out the discovery of possible truths but also places us in greater danger of being victimized if one of these theories turns out to be true.

History has shown that sometimes evil people band together in secretive ways to do sinister things. And in many cases those who had veridical suspicions about these plots were ignored, ridiculed, or denounced as loony for the accusations they made. Might some of today’s “conspiracy theorists” be correct as well? Time will tell. But dismissing all of them as equally ignorant or psychologically twisted will only slow our progress toward the discovery of truth in each case, and to do so is no more rational than uncritical acceptance of flat earth theory or a moon landing hoax.

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The Temptations of Intellectual Pride

By Jim Spiegel

Many times over the years people have asked me about the dangers and pitfalls of studying philosophy, particularly for a person of faith. Usually the questioner has worries about the subject matter of philosophy—the questions that philosophers ask and, especially, wayward ideas that abound in the field, from metaphysical naturalism to moral relativism, which are inimical to a Christian faith perspective. In answering the question, I usually make a couple of observations. One is to acknowledge that, yes, there are many hazards involved in philosophical inquiry as regards the ideas and arguments one encounters in the field. And yes, it is possible for a well-intended Christian philosopher to be duped by what the Apostle Paul calls “hollow and deceptive arguments” (Col. 2:8). I have seen this happen to many people over the years. But I have seen it happen just as frequently, if not more so, in other fields, especially in the social sciences. So philosophical studies should not be singled out as the academic field most hazardous to one’s spiritual health. Moreover, I believe the potential upside of Christ-centered philosophical studies to be greater than that of any academic field, aside from theology.

Another observation is that when it comes to spiritual hazards in academic pursuits, the biggest culprits are not particular subjects, ideas, or arguments but rather human vices that are often occasioned by academic inquiry generally, including but not limited to philosophical studies. Here I am thinking especially about intellectual pride. I can think of at least four ways in which serious academic pursuits present temptations to intellectual pride.

One such temptation is the desire for absolute intellectual autonomy, the impulse to work things out for oneself when it comes to worldview and questions about all sorts of issues, including one’s ultimate values and the meaning of life. Of course, a certain amount of intellectual autonomy is good and proper, even necessary for human maturity. But taken to the extreme, where a person denies, even if only tacitly, the authority of Scripture over one’s life and belief system, this is, from a Christian perspective, most certainly a vice.

Another related temptation is the inclination to dismiss scriptural authority or particular biblical passages because of confusing passages and a lack of philosophical sophistication. While what has traditionally been called the perspicuity of Scripture (the clarity of its meaning, at least on the most central issues, for ordinary readers) is commonly hailed as a hallmark of its divine inspiration, someone who is trained in rigorous logical analysis may be tempted to question this because Scripture’s assertions and narratives are sometimes cryptic, confusing, or even crudely articulated and not what a trained academic, such as an analytic philosopher might “expect” from a divinely inspired text.

Thirdly, rigorous academic training and the pursuit of rational accounts and demonstrable explanations for phenomena can tempt a person toward a disinclination to be content with mysterious aspects of Christian doctrine. Appeals to mystery can sound like a cop-out to the serious academician (never mind the fact that everyone relies on significant articles of faith at the foundation of their belief system—e.g., the laws of logic, the general reliability of sense perception, the law of causality, and even the existence of other minds), and for this reason the Christian scholar may be tempted to deny or disparage the role of mystery in her belief system.

Finally, the fact that academicians tend to be endowed with significant intellectual gifts—which partly explains why they become academicians in the first place—is itself a source of temptation. Such people tend to have greater mental adroitness, and this brings with it skills for profound insight and innovation but also for rationalizations and obscuring moral truths. Intellectual gifts, like all human talents, are a double-edged sword, both a blessing and a curse. A significant aspect of the latter is the temptation it presents for the intellectually gifted person to effectively deploy her acumen to warp, undermine, or obfuscate otherwise plain biblical teachings, especially as these regard Scripture’s moral standards and the obligations they impose on us.

Augustine maintained that the root of all human sin is pride, which is essentially arrogant self-satisfaction. C. S. Lewis agrees, noting that “the essential vice, the utmost evil, is pride. Unchastity, anger, greed, drunkenness, and all that, are mere fleabites in comparison: it was through pride that the devil became the devil: Pride leads to every other vice: it is the complete anti-God state of mind” (from Mere Christianity).

Any gifts or talents with which God blesses us may be occasions for pride, and this is especially true of intellectual gifts, for the reasons I’ve noted. This might explain why there are so many biblical warnings and rebukes regarding intellectual pride. The book of Job culminates with the Lord showing Job the puny reach of his understanding. The writer of Ecclesiastes calls the pursuit of wisdom under the sun “a chasing after the wind.” And Jesus highlights how some of the greatest insights are “hidden…from the wise and the learned and revealed…to little children” (Mt. 11:25).

We would all do well to keep this in mind, especially those of us who are academicians. If not properly tethered by a humble submission to God and the authority of Scripture, our intellectual gifts may actually become a hindrance to understanding, amounting to more of a curse than a blessing. As the Apostle Paul says, “Where is the wise person? Where is the teacher of the law? Where is the philosopher of this age? Has not God made foolish the wisdom of the world? … [T]he foolishness of God is wiser than human wisdom, and the weakness of God is stronger than human strength” (1 Cor. 1:20-25).

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Remembering my Friend, Ben Arbour

By Jim Spiegel

Aristotle said there are three kinds of friendships: those based on utility, those based on pleasure, and those based on a shared commitment to the good—wisdom and other moral virtues. Most of our friendships fall into the first two categories. Aristotle tells us that rare are those friendships truly grounded in a mutual pursuit of virtue. So I consider myself blessed to have had several of these friends. Humanly speaking, they are the principal reason I display any virtue or wisdom myself. Such friends are absolute treasures, benefitting us not only here but for all eternity. Because the joy and blessings they bring are so immense, losing them is especially difficult. Last week I lost such a friend—Ben Arbour, as he and his wife, Meg, perished in a car accident near their home in Fort Worth, Texas.

It was nine years ago that Ben introduced himself to me at a meeting of the Evangelical Theological Society. I was instantly struck by his exuberance, wit, and sharp critical mind. “You and I have a lot in common and we need to get to know each other,” he declared. Thus commenced our friendship, which he initially characterized as a mentoring relationship. But the truth is that I learned more from Ben than I ever taught him.

An irrepressible extrovert, Ben had a list of friends whom he would regularly call to discuss whatever was on his mind. And he constantly had a lot on his mind. Sometimes he would hit you with an argument he’d just dreamed up. Sometimes he would have a list of topics to discuss. Other times he would simply have a question. These conversations often pertained to some philosophical point, whether concerning the metaphysics of God and time, the ethics of human sexuality, or a practical implication of Berkeleyan idealism, but just as often his concerns were theological, ecclesial, or pastoral in nature.

I was just one person on Ben’s list of regular interlocutors. His philosophical-theological motor never turned off, seemingly even while he was at work, appropriately enough, as finance manager at Sewell Automotive. And sometimes he would begin these phone conversations by saying, “Jim, I have some great news.” To which I’d reply, “Yeah, what?” Then he would declare, “Jesus has risen from the dead, our sins are forgiven, and we will live forever with him for all eternity. Isn’t that great?” Indeed. And this reminder would suitably frame the discussion, debate, or goofy banter that would follow, just as Ben’s entire life was framed. He was a pure Gospel man.

Ben was also a multitrack thinker, known among his friends and colleagues for playing video games on his iPhone while attending highly technical conference presentations. The first time I witnessed this, I figured Ben was simply fatigued and had tuned out of the presentation. But when the speaker was finished and invited questions from the audience, Ben immediately piped up with the several apposite and incisive comments. This was typical for Ben, as I would eventually discover. It was also Ben’s routine, when especially intrigued or unsatisfied with the presenters’ responses to his questions, to pursue the discussion with the speaker outside of the conference room. And on at least two occasions he followed the presenters into the bathroom while doing so. I am thinking specifically of Robert Audi and Nicholas Wolterstorff, who, I am sure, handled Ben’s indefatigable questioning with grace and good humor.

Another fundamental aspect of Ben’s personality was his love for people, especially fellow Christians. He had a voracious appetite for fellowship, which always included rich conversation, clever wit, and good food. Ben was expert at two of these, and he tried to be a decent chef. I can’t say he always succeeded. But he did try. Thankfully, Meg more than made up for whatever Ben lacked in cooking skills.

Ben was also a sports fan, especially, and rather determinedly, of baseball. He frequently made known his conviction that baseball is the best of all sports (a conviction I share, so the matter occasioned no debate between us). Though seemingly trivial, somehow even this conviction of Ben’s was theological, and this carried through even to his rooting interests. For example, in the most recent World Series Ben pulled intensely for Los Angeles just because he was aware that Dodgers pitcher Clayton Kershaw is a committed Christian.

Ben was a great family man—a dedicated husband and father, and it was a joy to see him interact with his four sweet kids. In my last visit with the Arbours two weeks ago, I was struck by Ben’s tender, Socratic interaction with his youngest son, Noah, about some theological point. Ben’s fatherly care, his readiness to help Meg around the house, and the whole Arbour family dynamic of hospitality were a tangible testament to the man’s humility and genuine servant heart. “Mi casa es su casa,” Ben would say. And he meant it literally. The Arbour house constantly buzzed with guests, all of whom seemed to be special friends. One of Ben’s greatest pleasures was connecting his friends with one another. This was not merely some extrovert compulsion or professional networking but a ministry of catalyzing koinonia. It was a spiritual gift that easily surpassed that of the most socially inclined pastors I have known. Almost unconsciously effected, it was borne out of Ben’s boyish joy in the people of God.

Many a devout Christian talks a good game when it comes to intentionally and compellingly integrating the Gospel of Christ into every aspect of their life. Ben Arbour actually did this—to the delight of many and to the annoyance of some but to the benefit of everyone. Those who were close to Ben know how he was always encouraging, even when offering critical push back. Our final conversation two days before he died provides a good case in point. I had shared with Ben the possibility that I might take a teaching job at a school in Asia, which would require my being away from my family sixteen weeks each year. Rather than bluntly asserting that this was a bad idea, Ben simply said, “I don’t think I could handle being away from my wife that long. But maybe I’m just weak in that way.” This humble way of registering his reservations was particularly impactful. And it vividly illustrates the beauty of Ben Arbour as a third-level Aristotelian friend and faithful Christian brother

At this point I am still in the stage of grief that sometimes lingers in outright disbelief. It seems impossible that Ben is really gone. Eventually it will sink in, and I will grow accustomed to the fact that this world is no longer graced by his presence. In the meantime, I consciously remind myself of what Ben repeatedly reminded me: Jesus Christ has risen from the dead, our sins are forgiven, and we will live forever with him for all eternity. Crushing as it is for those of us who love them, Ben and Meg have together begun the next phase of their everlasting lives with Christ. Even now I can hear Ben’s voice: “Isn’t that great?” Yes, Ben. It surely is.

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Philonous Songs

By Jim Spiegel

In terms of my creative calling in this world, I am most fundamentally a writer. Before I knew anything about teaching, scholarship, or the formal disciplines of philosophy and theology, I had a strong sense that writing would somehow define my life. This awareness even preceded my conversion to Christianity as a teenager. And almost immediately upon my conversion, I began to pursue this aspect of my calling. During my college career, the contours of my future writing career came more fully into view as I discovered the field of philosophy and eventually adjusted my professional aims in that direction. For the last 25 years I have been publishing my work, mainly in the scholarly realm. But all along I have been a lover of music as well and have developed my songwriting craft as a hobby. I estimate that I have written some 350 songs. Many of these I have recorded, others I have played live in various venues, but most have not been heard by anyone.

So, to ensure that most of these saw the light of day, back in August I began posting demos of my songs on YouTube, which you can check out here. I recognize that I am, at best, only a serviceable guitarist and vocalist, but these demos are about the songs, not the particular performances. I have been posting one song per week since mid-August, and I intend to maintain this pace until I exhaust my inventory and then, perhaps, simply post songs as I write them.

Since in most cases I have not provided any background or explanation regarding the songs, I thought it would be a good idea to do so here. But first, an explanation for my pseudonym. The name “Philonous” derives from two Greek terms, philo and nous, which together mean “love of mind.” This moniker is not original with me but was coined by the eighteenth century Irish Anglican bishop George Berkeley, whose metaphysical idealism has had a more powerful impact on my thinking than anything besides the Christian Gospel. I believe Berkeley’s idealist thesis—that “to be is to be perceived”—offers the best philosophical lens through which to view this world and to make sense of it in biblical terms. Metaphysical idealism asserts that mind is most real, and that everything else is somehow dependent upon and an expression of that mind. Jonathan Edwards, among many other great Christian thinkers, held the same conviction. So I am just one in a long line of Berkeleyans dating back more than 250 years. For more on recent Berkeleyan scholarship, you can look here and here and here.

But I digress . . . sort of. The point is that the Philonous pseudonym is purposeful and reinforces the idea that the entire cosmos, all of human history, and each of our individual stories, are literally the thoughts of God made public. We are all actors on the divine stage, and God is directing this drama with exquisite care and intention to create the most beautiful story possible. I find this to be not only philosophically and theologically rich and insightful, but also an especially inspiring aesthetic perspective which charges all human endeavor and every subject matter with significance.

So that’s a bit of background. Now here are some brief annotations regarding the first dozen songs posted on my YouTube channel:

  1. State of Mind – This is my Berkeleyan “anthem” which I deemed to be an appropriate launching song for my YouTube channel because, as I explained above, the metaphysical idealist thesis has driven so much of my thinking about all aspects of the cosmos and human existence.
  2. Government Man – This one was borne out of exasperation with government ineptitude. Politically, I am a conservative/libertarian (or classical liberal, depending on which categories one prefers), and this song reflects that perspective like a few other songs I’ve written over the years.
  3. Little Hitler – As I explain in the song’s description on YouTube, this song is about original sin (echoing such biblical passages as Genesis 6:5 and Jeremiah 17:9, which also are hyperbolic in their emphasis on human depravity). As you might already know, this one caused a bit of controversy a while back. If you’re not familiar with the story, you can look here and here and here.
  4. What it’s Like to be Born – This song is not as straightforwardly about religious conversion as it might appear, though it certainly concerns that as well, obviously playing with Jesus’s metaphor of rebirth. Here I try to highlight the oft-overlooked aspect of this metaphor—that such rebirth is both joyful and painful.
  5. Let’s Start Our Own Country – I have written at least three versions of this song, the first back in 1988. Because the lyrics have always related to current events, the song always dates itself. So I wrote new lyrics for this version this past summer.
  6. Jesus Never Let Me Down – I wrote this one after the fallout from the “Little Hitler” controversy. I have been a Christian forty years, and Jesus has yet to let me down even once. And he is not letting me down through this recent trial, which is very small compared to what other Christians have suffered and are currently suffering around the world.
  7. Out of the Question – This is a sort of wordplay that poses a variety of questions which, though all significant, are in some way or another self-answering. Thus, the answer in each case comes “out” of the question. Even the title is a twist, since the phrase usually means something very different, something along the lines of “beyond consideration.”
  8. Define it Away – This song is a critical commentary on a cultural trend among leftists to redefine terms and concepts in such a way as to warp or hide certain truths. It is also intended to be comical, though those on the political left will likely be more annoyed than humored by it.
  9. Bend the Rules – I wrote this one many years ago in response to a friend who repeatedly challenged certain standards within our local church and eventually left the church out of exasperation.
  10. What’s Wrong With the Media – This song is a critique of certain aspects of much of the contemporary American media. Obviously, many media outlets and reporters are still doing good, admirable work. The song highlights disturbing general trends.
  11. Secret – I wrote this song about twenty years ago after the death of a good friend. I am convinced he was murdered, but his death was ruled a suicide. Thus, my friend’s murderer “got away with it.” Yet, alas, in the end that killer won’t really get away with anything.
  12. Rainbow – Many years ago I wrote this song about a good friend after hearing some people observe that he always seemed to be living under a cloud and was depressing to be around. The truth was, and is, that he is a beautiful and interesting person, even if most people can’t see this.
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Review of Michael Austin’s God and Guns in America

By Jim Spiegel

The recent wave of violent protests has brought in its wake a surge of shootings in major U.S. cities and a spike in gun sales around the country. This prompts, yet again, questions about gun violence and gun rights in America. So Michael Austin’s God and Guns in America (Eerdmans, 2020) is a welcome book at this time. It is a work that provides much needed philosophical-theological analysis of many aspects of this complicated subject. Austin is critical of current American laws regarding gun ownership, but he is not in favor of abolishing the Second Amendment right to bear arms. Instead, he says, “the best way forward is to balance the right to bear arms with our rights to life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness” (14). And he proceeds to explore multiple dimensions of the issue from a distinctly Christian perspective.

In the first chapter, Austin sets the stage for his book’s discussion by elucidating “Christian nationalism” and its problematic connection to the gun rights movement in America. He also highlights some key moments in the legal history of the Second Amendment Supreme Court decisions, most notably the relatively recent SCOTUS recognition of the individual rights view, which “interpret[s] the Second Amendment as protecting the individual right to own a gun” (12). Prior to this, Austin notes, the Court took a “collectivist view” of the Second Amendment, which maintains that the right to bear arms applies not to individual persons but to organized groups or communities. According to Austin, it was the 2008 District of Columbia v. Heller decision which was decisive in this regard.

Austin turns to a discussion of the nature of rights in chapter two, “The Right to Own a Gun.” He helpfully distinguishes between different kinds of rights, most notably legal rights and moral rights. Here he discusses what is likely the strongest foundation for gun rights: the right to life. As Austin puts it, “if a gun is needed for securing someone’s right to life, then we may be able to derive the right to own and use a gun from the right to life” (25). But he rightly points out that “if we accept the argument, it does not follow that the status quo regarding gun laws is acceptable.” Indeed, there must be some limits on the right to bear arms, just as there are limits on other rights. No one believes that individual citizens should be able to own and use missile launchers or nuclear bombs, but nearly everyone agrees that (reasonably qualified) citizens should be able to own and use pistols, shotguns, and rifles. So where does one draw the line? That is the key question in the gun control debate. In the end, says Austin, we need to balance gun rights with other rights and responsibilities, such as the right not to be shot and the moral obligation to use guns in self-defense only as a last resort. It is with this tension in view that Austin discusses stand-your-ground laws, noting a major problem with such laws—that “it is not always clear when one is truly in danger” (29). He concludes this pivotal chapter by granting that “there is a reasonable moral right to own a gun and that this right should be reflected in the law” but that “this is entirely consistent with the placement of legal limits on who can own and use a gun . . . for the purpose of defending life” (31). This is a reasonable, balanced, and popular general position on the issue, of course.

In chapter three, entitled “Guns, Lies, and Bad Arguments,” Austin reviews ten flawed arguments that are frequently used on either side of the gun debate in America. Some of these, such as that “violence is on the rise in America” and that “violence never solves anything” are just patently false. The homicide rate in America at the time of Austin’s writing was comparable to that in the 1950s. And violence sometimes does solve problems, as in the case of the defeat of the Axis powers in WWII and in many lesser known cases where would-be mass shooters have been taken out by security guards or lay people with guns. Other weak arguments make irrelevant points or false dichotomies, such as that “no law can stop all gun violence” and “it’s not a gun problem, it’s a heart problem.” Interestingly, Austin includes among the supposed “bad arguments” the claim that “guns protect us from tyranny and genocide.” While this is surely a common argument, which is no doubt wielded poorly by many people, it is not necessarily a poor argument in itself. But Austin is very critical of it.

Next, Austin discusses the various options for a Christian theology of violence. Here he discusses pacifism and just war theory, noting some of the major proponents of these views in the history of Christian thought. Pacifists generally eschew the use of violence and killing. Just war theorists affirm the justifiable use of violence and even killing, but they advocate a variety of delimiting criteria which must be met in order for violent actions to be morally acceptable. Rather than opting for one of these approaches, Austin advocates what he regards as a third option, which he calls “peace building.” Peace building, says Austin, “allows for violence only as a last resort and includes a very strong preference for nonviolence” (66). This is a curious distinction, since standard versions of just war theory explicitly recognize the exhausting of all peaceful alternatives as a necessary condition for justified violence. So, despite Austin’s suggestion that his view is an alternative to just war theory, it is actually a version of this view which places a particularly strong presumption in favor of non-violence.

Later in chapter 4, Austin discusses the appropriateness of congregants carrying firearms in corporate church worship services. It is a fascinating discussion of alternative perspectives which leads to a discussion in chapter 5 (“The Bible and a Gun”) of a variety of biblical arguments that have been made to justify the use of firearms as a means of self-defense (specifically, 1 Tim. 5:8; Heb. 10:32-34; and Luke 22:35-38). Austin concludes (rightly, I believe) that each of these biblical arguments is problematic, and he wisely comments at the end of the chapter that “many Christians seem to espouse views that are more reflective of one of the kingdoms of this world than of the kingdom of Jesus” (106).

In chapter 6 (“Christ, Character and a Colt-45”) Austin inquires into whether Jesus Christ would carry a gun. Austin concludes that he would not. Moreover, he maintains that “when [Jesus] told Peter to put the sword away, Jesus was disarming every Christian. . . .  They should lay down their lives, dying, not killing, in the name of Christ” (109). Austin’s argument is that such a posture of non-violence and even self-sacrifice is not only more reflective of Christ but is also a better fit for the development of other Christian virtues, including empathy and compassion. In this chapter, Austin wrestles with the challenge of the appropriateness of using guns in self-defense. He grants that this might sometimes be appropriate. But he concludes with this probing question which seems aimed at those who make the self-defense argument for the use of firearms: “Are we trusting in guns for things that we should be relying on God to grant us?” (119). This is challenging, to be sure. However, Austin avoids a likewise challenging counter: Should such reliance on God even extend to refusing to use guns to defend others (such as our own children) whose lives are being threatened? Just as in international contexts the duty to defend the innocent presents the greatest challenge to anti-war pacifism (e.g. defending Europe against the Nazis in WWII), the duty to protect the innocent and powerless in personal contexts presents the strongest challenge to personal pacifism. Presumably, this is one reason why Austin rejects outright pacifism.

In the book’s final chapter, “More Than Thoughts and Prayers,” Austin provides an extensive list of practical legal steps for dealing with our nation’s gun violence problem. These include universal background checks, restrictions regarding who can purchase a firearm, a federal “red flag” law, repealing “stand-your-ground” laws, a federal gun safety course, a ban on high-capacity magazines, and the exploration of assorted technological means of preventing the usability of stolen guns (e.g., the Bison Fingerprint Trigger Lock). Each of these proposals deserves extensive study, of course, but even this brief discussion is helpful. Austin concludes the book with a discussion of some relevant moral-theological considerations, appropriately reminding us that the more fundamental problem underlying gun violence is the human heart.

Michael Austin is to be commended for this much-needed work, which addresses one of the more divisive and complex issues of our time. He admirably strives for balance throughout the book and only occasionally fails in this aim (e.g. in his characterization “Christian nationalism” and his assessment of the anti-tyranny argument for gun rights). As is typical of Austin’s published works, his thinking is clear, organized, and insightful. I recommend this book to anyone who is interested in working out a theologically informed stance on gun rights and the problem of gun violence.

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New Publication: “Open-mindedness and Disagreement”

By Jim Spiegel

Recently, an article of mine entitled “Open-mindedness and Disagreement” was published in the journal Metaphilosophy. You can access the article here. In the article I consider the relevance of open-mindedness to the problem of peer disagreement. Here is the article abstract:

The current debate about disagreement has as rivals those who take the steadfast view and those who affirm conciliationism. Those on the steadfast side maintain that resolute commitment to a belief is reasonable despite peer disagreement. Conciliationists say that peer disagreement necessarily undermines warrant for one’s belief. This article discusses the relevance of open‐mindedness to the matter of peer disagreement. It shows how both the steadfast and the conciliatory perspective are consistent with a robust and substantive display of open‐mindedness. However, it also turns out that there are more ways to display open‐mindedness on the steadfast view than on the conciliatory view.

In the article I distinguish between two basic accounts of open-mindedness. On the “indifference account,” defended by Peter Gardner, to be open-minded about an issue is to lack any firm commitment about it. Whereas, on the “contest” model, defended by William Hare, to be open-minded is to be willing to have one’s views challenged and thus be critically receptive to alternative perspectives. I see these accounts as constituting distinct but compatible forms of open-mindedness. So, then, when it comes to the two views on peer disagreement—the steadfast view and conciliationism—what role might either form of open-mindedness play in the epistemic lives of persons of each persuasion?

This is one of those articles where, in the course of writing it, I was surprised to see where my reasoning led me. Prior to deeply exploring this issue, I would have thought that the virtue of open-mindedness plays a more significant role in the epistemic life of the conciliationist, but in one sense the opposite turns out to be the case. Although we might naturally think of conciliationists as tending to be more open-minded than steadfastians, there are nonetheless more ways to display this trait on the steadfast view than on the conciliatory view. For in the face of peer disagreement, the conciliationist may only display indifference open-mindedness, but the steadfastian may display either indifference or contest open-mindedness.

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My Trip to Greece and Italy

By Jim Spiegel

Recently, I returned from a 17-day sojourn through Greece and Italy.  The trip was led by Footsteps Ministries and traced the “footsteps” of the Apostle Paul on his missionary journeys as recorded in the book of Acts.  More than 50 Taylor students were on the trip, which functioned as a Biblical Studies course.  The leaders of the trip—David and Elizabeth Sparks, as well as Dave Sparks, Jr. and Kleanthis Iliadou, were tremendous guides, extremely knowledgeable in Greek and Roman history as well as biblical literature.  They also demonstrated a wonderfully pastoral touch.

At the Parthenon

Our journey began in Thessaloniki, where we visited the Arch of Galerius, the Basilica of St. Demetrios, and the Roman forum.  From there we went on to Philippi, where we visited the site of Lydia’s baptism and had a tour of the archaeological site: tour of the archaeological site: the agora, basilicas, theater, city walls, and the traditional location of Paul’s imprisonment.  Next we traveled to Berea to see the Rostrum of Paul and the Jewish Quarter with its synagogue.  Then we continued on to Vergina, site of the royal tombs of Philip II of Macedon, father of Alexander the Great.

Next, we traveled to Delphi, but on our way we stopped to visit the monasteries of Meteora, which are perched high atop gigantic rock formations.  In Delphi we visited the sanctuary of Apollo, the Delphic agora, theater, and stadium.  This is where the oracle at Delphi, reputedly speaking for the god Apollo, declared that Socrates was the wisest man in Athens, which is was our next destination.  We stayed in Athens four days, visiting the theater of Dionysios, Hadrian’s Arch, the Temple of Zeus, the Acropolis, where the Parthenon, Erectheion, Temple of Athena, and other sites are located.  We

Ruins of Aristotle’s Lyceum

also visited Areopagus (Mars Hill), where the Apostle Paul gave his discourse recorded in Acts 17.

While in Athens I used a free day to hike up to the northern part of the city, wending my way through the tangled, cramped city streets to visit the remnants of Plato’s Academy.  I also made my way over to the ruins of Aristotle’s Lyceum.  Although these sites are not as visually dazzling as many of the other destinations on this trip, they were highlights for me—just to walk amongst the remnants of the schools founded by these two great Greek thinkers, whose writings have so deeply impacted Western history.

At the Roman Colosseum

We also visited Corinth, visiting the extensive ruins of the ancient city and climbing up to the Corinth acropolis, where the views are spectacular.  Then it was on to Italy, where we spent the final four days of the trip, visiting numerous sites in Rome, including Piazza del Popolo, Trevi Fountain, the Pantheon, the Colosseum, St. John Lateran Church, St. Paul’s Basilica, the Church of St. Sebastian, and the Roman catacombs.  We also spent a day in Vatican City, visiting the Bridge of Angels, St. Peter’s Square (which isn’t really square), the Vatican Museum, and the Sistine Chapel.

What an extraordinary experience!  If you decide to visit Greece and/or Italy, then by all means do it with Footsteps Ministries.  The Sparks family are the best!